J. F. Danskin
Sparta Online: Nemesis
First published by Inkpot Books 2021
Copyright © 2021 by J. F. Danskin
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
J. F. Danskin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
Cover art by Christina Myrvold
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Contents
Chapter 1: Leaving
Chapter 2: The General
Chapter 3: Apparatus
Chapter 4: Into Sparta Online
Chapter 5: The Training Ground
Chapter 6: Training Begins
Chapter 7: Myrmidons
Chapter 8: Weapons and Armor
Chapter 9: The Baths
Chapter 10: The Race
Chapter 11: The House of Healing
Chapter 12: The Stymphalian Birds
Chapter 13: Awake
Chapter 14: Quests and Monsters
Chapter 15: Further Insight
Chapter 16: To the Coast
Chapter 17: The Village
Chapter 18: The Edge of the Swamp
Chapter 19: Shields
Chapter 20: Deep Water
Chapter 21: Potions
Chapter 22: The Hydra
Chapter 23: Arrows, Sword and Flame
Chapter 24: The Sand Dunes
Chapter 25: A Return to Sparta
Chapter 26: By Night
Chapter 27: The Trial of Hippolyta
Chapter 28: The Trial Continues
Chapter 29: Escape
Chapter 30: Capture
Chapter 31: Showdown on the Steps
Chapter 32: Thorns
Chapter 33: Ajax, Clio and Troy
Chapter 34: The Bridge
Chapter 35: The Mountains
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1: Leaving
Technoburbia. Sept 10th, 2178
For most boys, a fifteenth birthday is a time of celebration. For Troy, it was his cue to escape.
On reaching that age, all residents of Technoburbia became eligible to sign up for the armed forces, but for any child beyond the third of their family, it was compulsory.
As the fifth child, there had never been any doubt among his relatives that Troy would sign up on reaching adulthood. That was his expected path. No other options were even discussed.
Troy, however, had other ideas.
It was morning. From his position on the roof of their enormous residential block, the sun was now well clear of the horizon, and the light glistened and danced across the coppery rooftops. Troy looked from one side to another, thinking hard about his options. He could see the outline of the city center of Technoburbia beyond – the huge T-shaped and pyramidal buildings, and although it wasn’t visible from here, he was aware that the sprawling military academy with its thousands of young recruits lay just beyond, in the same direction.
Recruitment.
The loss of his freedom. The end of everything, as far as Troy was concerned. It must be avoided in any way he could.
There were three main possibilities, as he saw it. Their building was very long, and by running along its rooftops and then jumping from building to building, he could gradually make his way away from his family home until he reached an area of the city where nobody would know or recognize him. But this was risky; he could easily be seen at any point along his way, and asked to identify himself. And that would swiftly lead to capture.
Secondly, he could make his way to the nearer end of the building, climb down the fire escape to the street, and make his way on foot towards the city center. It was a subtler option, but would lead him closer to the center, and the military academy itself, and with this came an increased chance of being spotted by one of the dozens of routine patrols that drove that way every day.
Finally, he could simply hide until the danger had passed…
“Troy! The recruitment officer is here. Where are you?” His father’s voice rang out from below, a strong edge of anger easy to detect. “Hurry up. You are embarrassing us yet again.”
So soon! Troy looked down at his feet, where the hatch in his building’s roof. He had come up that way, and could climb back down to the attic. He didn’t like to upset his family – but on the other hand, it was a choice between freedom and slavery as a military recruit.
Turning away from the main city, he began to move towards the back of the vast building. He stepped as carefully as he could across the flat roof, trying to tread lightly so that he wouldn’t be heard from below. They were already searching for him – that much was all too clear.
At the back of the building was a lane, and its fire escape led past the residences of Neighborhood 63R. He began to climb down, aware that in moments he would be passing a small back window on their own upper floor ‘C-standard’ apartment. Despite the danger of being seen, he couldn’t resist the temptation to peek into his bedroom one last time – it was, after all, the space that he had shared with his two older brothers for his entire life. The room was currently empty, but he ducked down at what he saw – his father’s bulky frame and bald head. But the man’s back was turned. Keeping as low as he could, his head below the window frame, Troy hurried on.
On the level below, the way down was partly blocked by a broken iron gate. Holding on to the handrails, Troy lifted his feet up to ease carefully past it, stepping down on the steps beyond it. But as he did so, his heel caught on the gate, causing it to rattle loudly in its frame, and making the rest of the fire escape vibrate.
“Thieves!” came the yell from the cantankerous old man who lived below them, followed by a corresponding cry from his own residence on the floor above.
Damn.
Realizing that he had been detected and that a strategy of stealth was no longer viable, he sprinted at full pace down the rest of the steps, the metal hammering and vibrating under his feet.
Seconds later, Troy had reached the ground level. The back lane was squeezed between two equally-sized apartment blocks, and was only around three yards wide. This narrow space was mainly occupied by the city’s municipal trash processing units – MTPUs. These were containers which sorted, incinerated and piped away the remnants of all kinds of unwanted household matter. Each one was connected to the apartments in dozens of places via thick round copper pipes, giving the MTPUs the appearance of huge upside-down bugs with copper legs. Every now and then there was a gap between one unit and the next, and it was to one of these gaps that Troy now sprinted.
Crouching down, Troy caught his breath. His heart was beating fast, and he tried to clear his head and think.
He was sure he could hear voices on the fire escape now – someone had followed him. His father and brothers? The neighbors? The recruiters themselves? It was hard to say.
If he was caught now, his escape would be over almost before it began, and the army would own his life for years to come. It had never been a part of the plan to depart with anyone in pursuit. Why were they here so early? He had never heard of such a thing. Were they alerted by his suspicious
dad, perhaps?
He had also intended to leave with a backpack of supplies, but this was still in the apartment; there had been no time to retrieve it from its hiding place under a loose floorboard.
He did, however, have years of longer-term planning and dreaming behind him, if he could just manage to get back on track. His eyes focused on an area about fifty yards further up the lane. He had, just a few weeks ago, prepared a small box of materials including a long cloak which would help him to cross the city undetected, and placed it in a marked manhole cover along there. If he could just get along to this manhole without being detected… With the cloak to conceal himself and evade face-recognition by drones, he could make his way towards the walls of the city, and out to some of the post-industrial lands and agricultural remnants that still employed laborers on their land without asking too many questions.
Of course, even if he successfully retrieved the cloak, he would still have a significant problem. Both ends of the lane were a distance away, and each ended with a locked gate. He had counted on being able to get back up a fire escape – if not his own, then another one further along. But that was going to be impossible if people were at the back of the building, looking for him.
Just then, Troy heard a noise at the south end of the lane, beyond the manhole – a heavy vehicle stopping, its engine still running. It must be a military vehicle, as no other vehicles used that kind of loud, oil-fueled engine. So. That was where they planned to block him. And it was the same direction that he had just planned to go. The cloak was worth it, however. It was his only option now.
Hoping that his father or any other observers were suitably distracted, he moved out from the MTPUs, keeping them between himself and his apartment’s back window as best he could, and then began to run. He kept low as he went, half crouching, and hugged the edge of the building.
The vehicle was still up ahead, and he was fully expecting to hear a shout of ‘there he is’. But no shout came.
Soon he reached the manhole – or rather, the set of manholes, for there were around half a dozen of them in two rows of three, just as there was every few dozen yards along the lane. Was this even the right set? Troy crouched down, examining the small markings that he had previously made around the edge of each one.
Could this be it?
No.
That one?
Yes. That’s where I put it.
He curled his fingers around the edge of the iron cover and lifted, his heart once again beating really fast from both the stress and the sprinting. At first he couldn’t see it, but then – yes! – there it was. He reached in, and pulled out the shoebox-sized plastic container. Without concern for what he left behind, he ripped off the lid and threw it aside, then pulled out the cloak and the change of clothes that he had left there a few weeks ago. He couldn’t very well carry the clothes and move stealthily, Troy realized, so with some regret, he flung them off to the side of the lane.
Then he turned, and soon, he was on the move again – towards the opposite end of the lane, away from the vehicle. Again, no shout came. Whoever was parked by the gate hadn’t spotted him.
Again, Troy stayed close to the MTPUs, keeping them between him and his apartment. As he moved further along the lane, he dodged over to the other side, and began to hug the building walls again as he moved. That way, he was in the shadow of the morning sun as far as possible. He kept his cloak around him and his hood high, moving slower now. He must be almost invisible like this, he reasoned to himself. Success was assured.
When he was just twenty yards from the end of the lane, he paused to look ahead towards the gate – and his heart sank. For there, just beyond the gate, there was a large dark gray military truck. How was this possible?
Either it had moved around, anticipating his own movement, or they had parked one at each end – which seemed like overkill, even with a recruit intending to escape the draft. Either way, the military academy wasn’t letting go of him easily. That wasn’t too surprising in itself, but they had been quicker to react than he had ever expected.
He pulled the hood even lower across his face, slowed his pace, and then stared down at another set of manhole covers a few feet away – near-identical to the ones where he had hidden his gear. They were large enough to climb down, he knew, and occasionally maintenance workers went right down into them and stayed there for a little while.
Could he play that role?
Leaning over, he lifted the lid. It was big enough inside, right enough. Pulling the cloak neatly around him, he wriggled forward and let his feet down into the pit. He couldn’t see a ladder, but there was a ledge of sorts around a yard down, and if he crouched, he could get right inside it. This was perfect – he could wait here until the search had passed, and then creep out in the evening, climb the gate, and leave the city under the cover of darkness.
He reached up, and began to pull the round iron cover back across.
That was when the military officer leaned over the manhole – a man with a broad bearded face, dressed in a faded military jacket.
“Welcome to the army, Troy,” he said. “I’m General Cook. And you are going the wrong way.”
Chapter 2: The General
After some very brief and frosty goodbyes to his father and older brothers, Troy climbed into the military transport.
He was the first into the back of the vehicle; General Cook was not about to let the young man attempt a second escape. Two soldiers stood on the pavement, watching impassively.
Inside, the vehicle had two benches, one along each side. He sat near the edge of one; the two soldiers stepped in and sat opposite. Troy looked at the one opposite, who was holding her rifle very steadily and not making eye contact. They’re just grunts, he thought, the lowest level of soldier. Their lack of a reaction to any of the morning’s events further reinforced his negative view of what might await him in the military. At what point do people like me lose their ability to think, he wondered, becoming purely obedient?
Feeling dejected, he leaned back against the side of the van, putting his hands behind his head. After a slight delay, the General got in, and stood staring at Troy for a moment, chewing on nothing, his wide bearded jowls wobbling. After waiting, stooped over, at the back of the vehicle for a moment, the big man came closer, seated himself on the same side as his young recruit, and then turned his face towards Troy, staring at the boy coldly. Troy stared straight back, leaning into the corner of the van and folding his arms in front of himself.
In truth, he was unsure how much trouble he was in.
“Buckle up,” said the General, glancing down and pointing at Troy’s lap. He then looked away, and clipped his own safety restraint. The transport started to move.
As Troy clipped his own belt, he realized that it might be best to appease this man who clearly had some control over his future. “I’m… sorry,” he said.
But the General gave a disdainful wave of his hand. “Save it, Troy,” he said. “I know perfectly well that you are not sorry in the slightest, other than the fact that you got caught.” He had a rasping way of speaking, as if he had a sore throat.
Troy shrugged – it was true, but he didn’t want to confirm it.
The General spoke again: ”You wouldn’t be sorry for any trouble caused to me, either, I bet. But the fact is that I don’t blame you at all. Actually, I like this about you.”
Troy’s eyes widened. “You do?”
“Troy, I need a special kind of young person for a new program of training that’s been developed. For my program. I’m not needin’ kids that are especially fast or strong, or even fierce. All of that can come from the biological enhancements that we already provide, together with a certain amount of training in the gym after that. But I do need youngsters that are resourceful. Ones that are able to think on their feet, an’ come up with ideas.” He stared at Troy again; his eyes were watery and blue, and surrounded by wrinkles. “I think you have what it takes to fit in, kid.”
> “I see.” Troy wondered if the man was trying to reassure him before giving out the punishment that he was surely going to receive. Or could it be that the man was serious, and his attempted escape had somehow led to him being recruited for… what? Some kind of special training?
If so, he just hoped that it wasn’t going to mean more work.
The van was now bouncing around, speeding along one of the cracked and rutted concrete highways of central Technoburbia. They were by now well on their way to the Military Academy, Troy was sure, for it couldn’t be more than half an hour away from Neighborhood 63R.
”What exactly do you mean when you say ‘resourceful’?” said Troy after a pause.
The General grinned. Troy studied the man’s wide bearded face as he did so, thinking that the smile looked quite out of place. It was like the man wasn’t really used to smiling – but a real sense of excitement was coming across. Something almost childlike.
“We decided to try doing training a little differently,” the General explained, shuffling a little on the bench as he spoke, and folding his chunky arms across his large stomach. “We are following the example of the Spartans.”
”Spartans?” said Troy, staring back suspiciously, and trying to remember where he might have heard this word before. “I don’t really know what that means.”
”You will,” said General Cook. “Don’t worry, you will soon learn all that you need to know about the Spartans, and more besides. For now, I can tell you that they were a warrior people. That was their whole culture. In their time, every single boy from the age of seven was taken away from their parents and brought to the city’s training complex, and that is where they formed them into elite warriors.”
Troy was listening hard now, eager for clues about what this training program might have in store for him.
”They were expected to be self-reliant, too,” continued the General. “The food wasn’t good, and they had to find things to supplement it themselves. They had to be tough and resourceful, as well as great soldiers.” The man’s eyes were gleaming with enthusiasm as he spoke, though rather than looking at his recruit again, he was now staring off into the distance.
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